Simple peace

I sit in the woods right now. By the time I copy and paste this online I won’t be anymore, but as of this very second, 7:24 pm, I am sitting on Faerie Rock in the woods and writing.

I’ve wanted to do this for such a long time. Have a laptop and go into my favorite place to write.

When I’ve thought of doing that, I’d always picture myself typing out some novel, putting some spectacular story into motion. Instead I sit slouched here pondering my own sad story and craving to know how the forest always holds what I need.

A few years ago, I needed a playplace to live out my imagination. I needed a fantasyland for a warrior, a setting for a wandering heroine, or a hideout from pirates. A few months ago, a good friend and I needed winding beauty and distractions to keep us from making a silly mistake that we made anyway. A few weeks ago, I stood just over there and needed silence, smothering silence to blight the sounds of breathless, passionless, horribly chemistry-less kisses. This land has given me all that.

And if lore and conscience hold I shouldn’t blame the earth for the mistakes of her children. (But between you and me, I frigging hope she disowned this particular child. I’m not the clingy sort, I’m just sad.) So I’ll forego the blame, skip over the empty betrayed emotion that surfaces whenever I consider that night, the night the forest blissfully forgot for me. Instead, I remember that she gives me all I need, even when I don’t know what that is.

Apparently today, I just need solace. I need forgiveness for misusing this stunning place of my childhood. Just because this place is so, so special won’t mean that any boy I bring to see it is or ever will be. I need the trees to come alive in Tolkien fashion and tell me themselves that they don’t hate me for misunderstanding.

This raw undiluted place knows my beginnings. I feel as if it know of my darkest mistakes and half-feigned innocence but chooses to love the innocence more. Allows me for just a little while to become part of the world humanity once belonged to.

That little while is enough to hold me until the next time I come. The vivid greens, the ripe mud and leaves and debris, pounded into one thick ground. The soft trickle of the stream you can hear tinkling at you if you just listen hard enough. The constant vocal constructions of the birds and wildlife that are too real to be called music. Yeah. The little grey squirrel that’s coming to check me out as we speak. It’s enough to tide me over until I see it again. I can pull it up in my mind crystal-clear but it doesn’t compare.

It really does let you become part of it for a while, too. The little rock-grey rodent that just leapt from tree to tree on my right was totally chill with me being here: or at least she didn’t really give a crap enough to be subtle about her traveling plans to the bank-side. It’s a kind of acceptance that you have to just sit and be still for; a kind of peace that hits you quietly but keeps you quiet, and feeling as if you’re part of something. It’s something I’ll never willingly give up. It doesn’t matter how long it takes me to come visit this place, it always seems to be just as pleased to have me, bumbling about or writing away.

Anyway, the mosquitoes are out in full force now and there is some stench that makes me feel that something’s died nearby. Oh, hey, new scent: some skunk doesn’t accept me as much as that squirrel seemed to. Cute.

So I’m off, out of the forest. Off my rock I’d christened Faerie Rock when I was probably no older than three, wandering in here with my dad or grandpa. Twelve or fifty bug bites later, and I’m out of the woods and into the real world yet again. I wouldn’t pass up this haven for anything.

Advertisements

Always free

Here is what I think college will be like. I think it is going to be a lot of work. I’m going to get migraines again (I already had one the other day for the first time since I think yearbook ended). I am going to stress endlessly and probably overdose on caffeine and most likely will stop blogging for a while because I’ll be so insanely busy.

But I am going to enjoy every second of it. The long hours, constantly pushing myself. The eventual improvement that will hopefully follow.

Heather said outright, “They’re going to take you down a few pegs.” She means emotionally, musically, and mentally. Not ego-wise, I don’t have a problem that way. But everything I’ve ever been taught or thought I was doing correctly or well enough? No, they’ll fix me. And that was my reply: “As long as they’re planning on bringing me back up and higher, I’m totally fine with that.”

I am ready for this massive change. Not too eager: I love life, simple as it is right now. But I’m prepared for something bigger, something on a more serious and intense scale. Something I’ve been waiting for all my life.

At five years old I wanted to be a country star with a hundred horses and side jobs as a firefighter and ballerina. But even then I knew that my existence couldn’t be a simple marriage, children, and steady nine-to-five job. Not that there’s anything wrong with that! I almost envy it now that I know I probably won’t have it. The simplicity and basic motions that lead to a challenging and extraordinarily life-filled time here.

But I have come to realize that those probably aren’t going to be mine. Marriage wouldn’t be so bad: I like the tradition of it. The family that comes from it and the life two people can build together. I’m too much of my own person to share it with someone like that, though, I think. I like to be in charge; I want to have control over what I’m doing, with my body, heart, and career. A husband would really screw with that. Besides, the only guys that would be willing to stand up to me (or stand with me) on a romantic plane are the toughy-toughs: but the guy who believes he has a chance at leading me around anywhere is smoking the good stuff. Or delusional. Wimpy boys aren’t any fun, and the regular guy (if there is such a thing) seems to find me intimidating. But maybe, who knows, if there was someone who didn’t mind my lifestyle and let me do what I want, without being a complete pushover… oh well. It bears thinking about when I’m older. As does the thought of kids: but seriously? With what I hope is my career during the kid-bearing ages? Yeah, right. I’ll let Meeshie have the children, and I’ll be the best damn aunt anyone could contemplate.

Speaking of careers, if all goes as planned I’ll be singing. Singing then teaching, or singing and teaching. But either way I’ll probably be traveling. Maybe I’ll take classical music to third world countries or something cool. Who knows? But from a very young age I was aware that there would be different things in store for me. Whenever I thought about staying in a small town and having kids, maybe running a little business (pizza-making? a bookstore? cafe?), it just felt awkward. Like something was telling me, good try bud, but not in this lifetime… at least, not until you’re very, very old.

All the same, I want it and I don’t want it. I see the beautiful home my parents have, I know of the happiness my mother found in the early years of her marriage (up until my sister and I entered the picture, anyway. ha ha) and I know that the job security and a pleasant home can be a wonderful thing. I just don’t know if they will be mine. Anyway, all this rambling comes to one conclusion: college will be the start of something big, something magnificent and bright and wonderful. A vibrant beginning to an adult life that will make me who and what I was meant to be. Sempre libera.

Where under the jacket

My sister just wanted to know, “You know how Harry’s always pulling his wand out from under this jacket? Where does he keep it?”

The truth is, I don’t know. Where under one’s jacket would there be a place to hold a wand? Is there a lined, inner pocket for that sort of thing? Specially made Muggle jackets for wizards, with little storage pockets? Or maybe he just shoves it in his jacket and hopes for the best.

I don’t know. And this was an entirely pointless little bloggity blog because I’m tired and want to write but don’t know what to write about.

That’s all for tonight folks. I work at 6:30 am sharp tomorrow morning and get off at three. Despite a nap when I got home from Tara’s I am exhausted and the last little dregs of a migraine are still nagging at the back of my skull. It’s freaking humid and disgusting out, but I plan to go and try to sleep in the soggy oven that is Western New York. Blercdhchgh. (That’s a revolted and nauseated noise, by the way.)

Anyway. To insomnia. Have a good one.

Holy discontent

It’s been a few long months since I’ve heard that phrase.

I really don’t mean for this to be a themed blog, and once I get going I’m sure I’ll be writing more about other things… but lately God’s been on my mind so in pure honest fashion I’m just going to spew words through my fingertips and throw it all down.

I’m throwing down the fact that I haven’t set foot inside a church since my Uncle Bud’s funeral a few Fridays ago, and that made me feel nauseous. Not for my own personal awkwardness, although that did leak in during the beginning, the waiting. It was so similar to the Versailles church, where reverence and upturned-nose-piety went hand in hand. Stomach churning, I sat there until it passed. Then I was able to focus less on the setting that was so familiar and more on the funeral service, as was appropriate.

But then we sang, and the little girl (five or six years old) kept turning her head to stare at me. My mother was silent, as is her custom, and held the hymnal. The speaker/songleader at the time sucked. And it was all so routine and re-recognized to me that the hard sour slippery knot in my gut started to slosh once more.

It’s something about God that makes me want to wring my hands in frustration, then throw them out into the air helplessly, shouting at the sky. People fight and die and argue and hate and kill for God every day, not understanding that he is a god of love. Of deepest, truest love without boundaries, judgments, limitations or conditions. Whatever I’ve done, God loves me. That mentality collides hot and powerfully with something in my soul: the idea that my creator values me and cares deeply for me, no matter what I’ve done, always brings me back to him with an apology on my lips and questions in my eyes. What does God want from me in life? What am I supposed to be doing?

The knowledge that what I’ve done wrong so far will be overlooked as long as I’m trying to live a life of love is a happy truth I carry around with me every day, in place of the heavy guilty burdens I should have on my heart.

And there is where my seemingly peaceful and placid relationship with God ends. There is so much I really could be doing for him, I just don’t know what. Or how.

I used to be en route to changing childrens’ lives through Sunday School. Then I was tutoring. Then I was singing, a little here and there on the side for people who didn’t care. And then I was going to organize a read-in for deprived kids in Alexandra.

Now I don’t have anything driving me but the ever-present urge to learn music theory and Italian diction and perfect vibrato. Maybe that’s the mission God’s currently giving me: nothing of major importance to the world right now, but something that will spur me to success in the impossibly competitive world I will enter this fall. I don’t know for sure. I do know, though, that it’s been a while since I’ve felt the urgent nudge of a holy discontent I used to possess, and I wish I could experience it again and follow through.

Untouchable

Here we are! It feels like summer finally since work’s slowed down. I’m only on the schedule three days this week. This sucks because I Need Money So I’m Not in Debt Until I’m Ninety-Seven, but I’m not complaining because the heat and the sun and the gorgeousness that is my house make me so happy I could scream.

Downside: I think about work all the time. Not in a pleasant way; it’s in a manner that drops the stomach and puts pressure right up against my ribs. When do I have to do in? What can I improve on? How can I count money/pour coffee/accomplish my secondaries/talk to people/talk to co-workers faster, better, more efficiently?

This is just another example of me being a semi-paranoid, neurotic, analytic overaware overthinker whose main goal in life is to better herself and her surroundings. I don’t want to say I’m pathetic, because despite the self-conscious overtones I can be quite confident (or at least pretend, and project it) when I want to. But I’m very focused on not sucking at work. They are paying me, after all, and to be honest with my (probably) nonexistent readers I am quietly aiming for a raise by working my ass off before summer ends. And I would work it off more if I had some more hours.

That leads us back full circle to summertime, and how I’m enjoying the time away from work, when I’m not thinking about work. My mother just finished up her mandatory two week vacation, so today’s the first day we’ve really had where she’s not around. Dad’s home, though, “sick,” and Michelle and I are pretty much just exchanging skeptical looks when we pass each other in the house.

I actually just came in from using the wood-splitter. It’s time consuming, I’m being productive, and I’m outside. There’s a huge pile of wood, now, all nicely chopped up, thanks to me and this machine attached to the tractor. So I’ve had some fun today.

I’m restless, though. I went to a grad party Saturday where Brendan’s mom and sister talked to me for quite awhile. About college, about Brendan and his college plans and scholarships. I hadn’t even thought about Brendan for a few weeks. I’d had other things to think over and do. But since the name Brendan illicits thoughts of God, almost always, I started thinking again.

Brendan’s got this deeply seated connection with his God. He works at it; he tries. I know it’s not the easiest thing ever to maintain a relationship with an omniscient, seemingly far-away diety and his once-human Son. I mean, I’ve tried, I get it.

But Brendan’s entire life from now on will revolve around Him. He has it set up that way. From the education he’s going to get to the job he will take to the woman he will marry and so on and so on.

Me? I’m going to music school to learn how to sing and teach and speak foreign languages. Then I don’t know what the hell I’ll do. I realize my potential and my success thus far should be attributed to my God, but… well, and it is, I don’t mean it’s not. But I’m losing whatever connection I may have possessed. I don’t want to become some religion fanatic that everyone hates because they’re obsessed. Not that Brendan is! Holy crap, no. He displays his faith so everyone who knows him and knows of it respects both, whether they believe it or think it’s stupid.

I just don’t know if I’ll be able to use the immense and blind trusting faith I’ve felt since I was a small child in the real world. It’s the happy, warm centered feeling of all-encompassing love, true and pure. The feeling that God loves everyone no matter what they do. That he’ll accept them.

The sad and pathetic part is, I want to keep it all to myself. I don’t want anyone to hate or judge me for it because I love peace too much. I’m selfish about it. Selfishly protecting my reputation and my future success because a public relationship with God might hurt it. It’s the same thing I do with boys: don’t publicly acknowledge any connection to them for fear that others will use the connection to harm me. 

And another trouble of mine has been boys lately. It’s calmed down since July’s progressed, but still. Seriously, when have I ever given the impression that I’d be willing to participate in a one night stand? Or a long term, long distance relationship through college? Or having a freaking stalker?

Yeah, it’s gone the whole spectrum since graduation. And I’m not exaggerating. Naturally, each boy has been a weird ass. I’m not nitpicking; it’s ranged from a kid who legitimately thought I had a fetish with “boys like him” to one who displayed serious possession issues and shoved me around. Used the F word and tried to forbid me to hang out with other people.

Whatever. Boys suck. Why can’t there just be a nice, normal guy, who…

Who am I kidding. I don’t want nice and normal. But I do want someone who’ll have a mutual respect for me and actually value what I do and who I am. And vice versa. 

Okay, now I’m done ranting. Time to go swimming. At least I’ve spewed some of the bile that’s been in my mind here, and it won’t linger with me much longer. I’m sick of fretting. I’m sick of being that girl who thinks and considers: the one who’s so focused on improving everything else. Evasive and untouchable, that’s me.

My love like a voice

It’s been awhile since I’ve blogged anything. A few weeks, anyway. It’s high time the writing’s continued, especially this is the summer before I head to college for the first time.

This is the sequel to my previous blog of two years, Kick Drum Heart (http://amnerisblue.wordpress.com); the title of this one is the other half of the phrase the Avett Brothers sing of in their song of the same name. It’s a step forward, of sorts: a new stanza to the same song, if you will.

So! Take a look around, read some of my thoughts and rants and musings. Leave me a note if you’d like, I appreciate any and all input (and the fact that you give a crap what I have to say will undoubtably make my day, whether your comments are nice, nasty, or otherwise).

Anyway it’s about time for me to wrap this up, so, have a great day. :)